States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Graces Road' by Louise Oxley

Graces Road

Rise above it, my mother used to say,and now she's old, she herself is something I must rise above.Just now, to separate myself, I turned and drove,and finding Graces Road, followed its nameupwards to paddocks that a summer of scant rainhad worked into yellow and mauve.Someone who had lovedthis arc of land had turned things so its haycould harvest the sun, and – who knows? – maybewithout forethought had named its road with a wordthat drew me up like first light from greyto yellow, then caught me in the whole halfcircle of the day and removedme, the dark hills around me like a sleeping herd.

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